


Remember me

by Queenofthebees



Series: Truth [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-28 16:26:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15710946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthebees/pseuds/Queenofthebees
Summary: “Jon,” she moaned, pressing frantic kisses to his mouth as her hands reached for the ties of his breeches. His hand snapped around her wrist. Her lips trembled as she looked up into his eyes.“I know,” she whispered, slowly extracting her hand from under his only to reach for the ties again. “I know we shouldn’t…but, I just want something to remember you.”What little restraint he had left him with a shudder and his mouth was on hers again, his hand burying in her hair once more as the other linked fingers with her own, allowing her to pull him backwards.





	Remember me

Sansa was used to her mother coming to brush her hair before bed so the sight of her at her door was no surprise.

Yet as she watched her mother approach through the mirror, Sansa couldn’t help but think she look rather dismayed. As though she had some terrible news to break to her and Sansa’s mind immediately started to think of all manner of things happening to her father and siblings.

When Catelyn still never spoke as she picked up the brush, Sansa could no longer bare it.

“Is something wrong mother?”

“I told you to not let it go further did I not?” her mother replied. “So why are you pushing for more, Sansa?” Sansa’s eyes widened and she darted them away so her mother wouldn’t see her shame.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hating the way her voice choked with the build of humiliated tears.

“You are hardly subtle with Theon,” her mother continued with a tut. Sansa’s eyes flew open. “Anyone could see something was going on there.”

_Theon. She thinks I want Theon!_

“I…I will be more careful mother, I promise.”

“I think we ought to speak with your father,” Catelyn said gently as she guided the brush through Sansa’s locks.

“About what?” Sansa asked nervously. The idea of Theon being punished for her stupid need to make Jon jealous made her gut churn with shame.

“The prince is not much off an age with you,” her mother prodded gently, her hands settling on Sansa’s shoulders.

“You want me to marry Prince Joffrey?” Sansa replied in shock.

Once, she would have begged her parents for such a match. But now, now all she wanted was Jon. Jon, who was leaving her for the Wall in just a few days. It was enough to drive her to tears all over again.

Catelyn placed the brush down on the table and wrapped her arms around her, pressing a kiss to her head.

“I know you think that you love him my darling,” she whispered into her hair. “But Theon isn’t a suitable match for the eldest daughter of House Stark.”

“I understand,” Sansa replied thickly, keeping her eyes lowered in a picture of a grieving girl.

Better to let her mother’s suspicions lie with Theon rather than Jon, she thought. At least her mother wasn’t going to punish Theon for her recent behaviour, clearly remembering that Sansa had told her that the boy she liked had rejected her.

“Good,” Catelyn said, squeezing Sansa’s shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. Sansa forced a smile.

“I’m rather tired.”

Catelyn nodded, giving her a sad smile in the mirror before kissing her temple. “Goodnight darling.”

Sansa waited for her mother to leave the room before she rushed to her bed and threw herself onto the pillows, sobbing hopelessly.

Her cries almost blocked the sound of the small knock on her door moments later and she raised her head to look towards the sound. Harshly wiping her eyes, she called for the person to enter, grimacing at how croaky her voice sounded.

“Jon!” she cried, leaping from the bed and throwing her arms around him as he shut the door gently behind him.

“I have something important to tell you,” he murmured against her neck.

“Me too,” she sobbed, remembering her mother’s words.

“I’m Lyanna’s son, not father’s. Not your father’s I mean,” he said quickly. Sansa reeled back to stare at him.

“So…so we’re…cousins?”

She felt a hopeful smile erupt on her face and she rushed to embrace him. But to her surprise, he held his hands up to stop her, shaking his head gently.

“I still have to go,” he told her. Sansa felt as though he had slapped her, stepping away from him in hurt.

“Why?”

“Why?” he repeated incredulously. “Because how can I have any sort of control knowing we are cousins? I barely had control when I thought we were siblings!”

“Mother is wanting me to marry Prince Joffrey,” she blurted.

It was a cruel thing, she knew. To goad his jealousy to get what she wanted. But she didn’t care anymore. She wanted him, only him. Not some golden prince from the songs.

“Then, I wish you a happy marriage,” he replied thickly, his eyes already shining with the threat of tears.

Sansa shook her head, stepping towards him again, reaching desperately for his hand. “Don’t go! Please. Please, stay with me!”

“Sansa…”

“Join the Kingsguard instead,” she begged. “Like Prince Aemon did for Naerys!”

“And watch you marry another man?” he retorted.

“Then we’ll run!” she cried desperately, clutching his hand tight in both of hers. “Don’t leave me Jon!”

He quietened her with a kiss, his free hand cupping the back of her head. Sansa swallowed as she pulled away before tugging him backwards towards her bed. His eyes widened, his feet sticking stubbornly to the floor as he started to shake his head in protest.

“Sansa,” he warned. She kissed him hard, pressing her body against him and her fingers tugging his hair.

It only took a few seconds for him to surrender, for his arms to circle around her and keep her close as his mouth opened for her.

“Jon,” she moaned, pressing frantic kisses to his mouth as her hands reached for the ties of his breeches. His hand snapped around her wrist. Her lips trembled as she looked up into his eyes.

“I know,” she whispered, slowly extracting her hand from under his only to reach for the ties again. “I know we shouldn’t…but, I just want something to remember you.”

What little restraint he had left him with a shudder and his mouth was on hers again, his hand burying in her hair once more as the other linked fingers with her own, allowing her to pull him backwards.

A gasp ripped from her lips as her back hit the furs and Jon tumbled on top of her. She tugged on his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers before rational thought could fill the space between them. Her fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, tugging upwards with fevered need.

“Sansa,” he whispered again, his voice cracking with the last clinging of his restraint.

“Do what you did the last time,” she begged, running her knuckles over the hard muscles of his stomach, relishing in his sharp inhale.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled her hips invitingly. Jon's back quivered beneath her fingertips as he instinctively rutted against her, falling into the cradle of her thighs. His lips claimed hers again as he rolled his hips against her. And this time, as her fingers returned to his laces, he didn't stop her.

Her head rolled to the side as his hot breath puffed against her neck while she blindly pulled the ties of his breeches and hooked her fingers in the waistband. A long groan ripped from his throat as Jon shifted on top of her, allowing her to tug the clothing down. His own hands pulled her night shift up, leaving their lower halves with just their small clothes separating them.

"Look at me," he moaned, reaching to stroke her jaw and coax her to do as he asked. When her eyes met his, he pressed his forehead to hers. His lips parted and Sansa shook her head, rearing up to kiss him desperately.

She couldn't hear those words, she wouldn't.

Jon tried to pull back, as stubborn as herself when he wanted to be. So, she reached down and cupped her palm against him to distract him. He cursed in surprised pleasure, another tumbling from his lips as he realised how loud he had been.

Sansa giggled, the sound causing Jon to laugh along with her until she silenced him with another kiss, her hand sliding beneath the band of his small clothes.

"It...that isn't what I thought it would be like," she murmured as her fingers traced the length of him. Jon rutted forward with another long moan before his brow creased.

"What?" he asked.

Sansa smiled in response, a feeling of pride running through her at being able to reduce him to such a state as she gave a couple of experimental strokes.

"It's soft...well, no, it's hard," she amended with another sweet laugh. "But it feels softer than I, mmph!" Her words were cut off when Jon leaned down and pressed his mouth hard against hers.

"I really can't handle you talking about my cock like that!" he growled, his hips still rutting into her closed palm in the search of continued pleasure.

She flushed at his words. Despite having her hand there, hearing the word caused her more embarrassment than actually holding his manhood. Mostly because the deep huskiness of his voice from his pleasure sent her nerves aflame, made her want his hands on her own body.

"Jon," she whined, nuzzling her nose into his neck. "Jon please. Please...take me."

"No!" he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as though doing so would make it easier to refuse her.

She moaned despairingly against his shirt, her hand tightening around him, her strokes growing faster in retaliation and causing Jon to choke out another curse.

"Sansa! St..stop, I...I'm...urgh,  _gods_!"

"I want to see you finish for me!" she demanded before grief caused her voice to soften. "So I can imagine you like this when you are on The Wall and I'm far away."

"Gods, Sansa!" he groaned, his teeth biting into his bottom lip as he panted with need.

She gasped in surprise as his seed spilled out across her hand and shift. She blinked down at the white substance in curiosity, slowly sliding her fingers through it as her hand released Jon. He collapsed backwards, sitting back and staring at her with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Sansa giggled, feeling her pride stir once again at how thoroughly debauched he looked.

A startled sound escaped him as she raised her finger to her mouth and tentatively licked his seed from her fingertip. She grinned, pushing her finger into her mouth and giving a long suck. Jon growled, his fingers curling around her wrist and pulling her hand away.

"I cannot go to The Wall with that image in my head!" he said. 

Immediately, the lightness that had overcome her from their tryst evaporated and the cold reality of the situation washed over her. She pulled his hand up, kissing his fingertips.

"Isn't there anyway I can make you stay?" she asked. Jon sighed as though the whole world relied on him and shook his head.

"I can't Sansa." He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes fluttering across her face as though to memorize every detail. "You'll forget me, once you are Queen and having golden sons."

"I won't!" she assured him fiercely. 

 _The songs are lies_ , she thought bitterly.  _No golden prince would ever compare to Jon Snow._

 


End file.
